


Taxi Chasing

by papercutperfect



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercutperfect/pseuds/papercutperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cab-sharing the way it should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taxi Chasing

**Author's Note:**

> Small thing I wrote for my sharky friend, Ninemoons42.
> 
> Christ, I swear that one of these days I will write something longer than a Tumblr-size ficlet!
> 
> I'll possibly expand on this if people like it, though it will more than likely just end up pure PWP. Meh.

It was days like this when Erik really, really hated this City.

4:45 PM and already it was impossible to flag down an empty taxi, the downtown Manhattan streets bustling with camera-itchy tourists and bellowing shop vendors, a level of din that settled heavily upon Erik’s eardrums and threatened the worst headache in the history of headaches.

There was the Subway, of course, but that was not an option. Last time he’d been forced to travel on that rickety tin-can of a train system, he’d sat in something decidedly sticky and almost had his wallet pickpocket-ed. No; he’d much rather wait on the street outside his office building, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck to ward against the cold, waiting with increasing rage for an empty cab.

Finally, whatever Heathen God was watching over him decided to cut Erik some slack, a little yellow cab trundling up to stop beside him. Blessedly empty — Erik could have kissed the thing, if he’d been so inclined to warrant some kind of disease from it’s metal frame.

Swinging open the door, Erik had one leg inside when a soft, English-accented voice spoke from behind him.

“Excuse me, would you mind terribly if I cab shared with you?”

Setting cold features to their most hardcore of glares, Erik turned sharply on his heel, ready and willing to snap some variation or other of ‘ _fuck off_ ’ and hop — alone, thank you — into the waiting taxi cab to speed home to a strong glass of Scotch and Egyptian cotton bedsheets. He didn’t _do_ the whole cab sharing thing; that simple act of kindness had jumped up to bite him in the ass on more than one occasion, dumping him with a fat businessman that reeked of B.O. the first time, and an elderly chatterbox that didn’t _shut the hell up_ about her cats the second.

Sucking in a breath, Erik turned to face the stranger — and found that lungful of air catching in his throat.

A blue deeper than the farthest reaches of the Atlantic ocean. Pale skin scattered with pinwheeling freckles; cherry red mouth the colour of fresh blood and tipping gently at the corners in a slow, friendly smile.

Erik stared, mouth dropping open.

The stranger wore a smart navy-blue cardigan at least a size too big for him, and held a stack of books in his arms so large it could rival Mid-Manhattan Library. Erik vaguely wondered if he should pinch himself to check whether or not he’d fallen into some kind of wet dream slumped over his desk.

“I wouldn’t usually ask,” the stranger continued, shrugging the books higher in his grip, “But I think it’s going to rain soon and, well, there’s a few First Editions here.”

Clearing his throat, Erik blinked hard and set his gawping mouth in a straight line. There had to be something wrong with the guy, some physical or emotional trait that would annoy the ever-living fuck out of him in the back of the taxi. But as the stranger tipped his head, sending a tumble of floppy brown hair over his eyes, Erik found his iron resolve crumbling like a stack of playing cards.

“Where to?” Since when had his voice dropped so low?

“Wonderful!” The stranger beamed in delight, juggling the books further onto his left arm, waving his not-quite-free hand, “I’m Charles Xavier. I’m only heading to Third Avenue, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Erik Lehnsherr. I’m heading that way myself.” Erik accepted the slightly awkward attempt at a handshake, mostly just wagging Charles’ fingers from side to side, before stepping back to allow the shorter man entrance to the taxi first. And he most certainly did not catch a good eye-full of the man’s backside as he clumsily tumbled into the car, either, of course not, that’s sick.

Maybe New York wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
